Egg Brothers
by Anakerie
Summary: Stephen can't refuse a plea for help, especially from his old mentor. But a quest for lost treasure leads to more than Stephen, his lover Erik, and an ethically-challenged Argonian bargained for. Companion fic to the "Lover's Comfort" one-shots. M/M.
1. Prologue

_Note: Still don't own them. This was originally going to be a another one-shot, but took on a life of its own. I was reluctant to have another part about Stephen's past, but the rest of the story won't make much sense without it. Walks-The-World is actually my second character, and he is a scoundrel to the bone. He gets to do all the fun things that Erik won't let Stephen get away with. (And yes, the prologue contains sort of a play on the cliché of 'Take the pebble from my hand'. It's kind of Oliver Twist meets Kung-Foo.) I'm not sure how many parts this is going to end up being._

**Egg Brothers: Prologue**

"By the Nine, this is useless!"

Erik drops the shattered lockpick on the floor of the cave next to a pile of others. "I can't do this, Stephen. I give up!"

"No you don't and yes, you can." Stephen hands him another pick. "Anyone can learn to pick a lock: try again. And listen to it: sometimes you can hear it when the pick is in the right place. The lock will talk to you if you let it."

Erik grits his teeth. "I am not planning to give up adventuring to join the Thieves Guild. Why is it so important to you that I learn to do this?"

Stephen sits back on his heels, and pushes aside an empty tankard one of the bandits who formerly claimed this cave left behind. The locked chest was a lucky find, in his opinion. He couldn't very well have Erik practice on people's front doors. "Because….because we had an agreement, that's why." It sounds flimsy even to him. "You want me to learn to be a better cook. Fine. I want you to open that chest."

"That…" Erik makes another attempt at the lock. "Does not answer my question. Who taught you to do this, anyway? This is too hard for you to have just picked up on your own. Damn it!" He drops another pick to the floor. "Whatever is in here better be worth all this."

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said Alain?" Stephen asks hopefully. "Didn't think so." He continues at the look his companion levels at him. "Well, truth is I learned it from my other brothers. My egg brothers."

Erik has heard the term before, but Stephen's use of it baffles him. "Since when…" he asks carefully, "are you Argonian? There goes another one. Are we almost out of picks yet?"

"No. I've got hundreds of them, sorry. That's what Walks always called Blue and me, his egg brothers, and we picked up on it." Erik hears affection in his voice, respect, and sorrow. "You'd have hated both of them. They'd have made those pretty morals of yours itch like a flea-plagued hound. Wasn't anything they couldn't figure out a way to lift…truth is that I wouldn't be alive without them."

"Walks and Blue?" Erik makes a face.

"Walks-The-World was Argonian. Blue was Dunmer. Before you say what I know you're going to say, I've got nothing against the Dunmer. Seems to me the other elves treated them just as badly as they treated everyone else. Even if Blue had been a High Elf, I still couldn't have hated him. He wasn't his people: he was just Blue." Something catches very slightly in Stephen's voice. "Just our Blue..."

"'_Ey, kid. Come on, mate, wakey, wakey."_

_Stephen tries to obey the voice, but the pain in his body is so great he can only whimper. He feels a rough hand on his face. Something metal is pressed against his lips, and a few drops of water poured into his mouth, which he swallows greedily. "That a boy. Wet yer whistle, there. Come on, then, open yer eyes." Then, obviously to someone else. "'Eh's gonna live, Walks. Bloody drained me to me dregs, and I'll reckon 'e ain't gonna feel like dancin' for a spell, but 'e's a tougher than 'e looks."_

_The reply comes in a sibilant, almost musical tone. "I suppose he'll still be wanting to keep his boots then. Such a shame." Stephen feels someone touching his foot through the leather of his footwear. _

_Stephen manages to force his right eye open. Everything blurs at first, and then slowly he is able to focus on the pale blue face of a Dunmer peering worriedly down at him. Behind him he sees the seeping stone walls of a prison cell, and to his right an Argonian who is eyeing him in interest. He tries to speak, but can't manage to get out the words, and the Dunmer offers him a little more water._

_Prison. He's still in prison. He was in the courtyard…someone demanded his bread…he refused…he was hungry…then they were beating him…_

_The Dunmer must see the fear in his eyes, because his face softens. "Easy there, my lad. Yer safe with us. What's yer name?"_

"_Stephen…" He manages to whisper. "I'm Stephen." _

"_Well, this here distinguished gentleman at my side is Walks-The-World. Me Mum named me Fadril, but she could 'ave saved 'erself the effort and just called me Blue cause damned if everyone else don't."_

"_Oh, I've heard you called by many names." Walks-The-World interjects dryly, and Stephen feels a smile tug at his lips. _

_He knows them now, a bit. He's seen them over the last few days, always together talking but always apart from everyone else. They stand out in his mind because he's seen no other Dunmer or Argonians in the prison. He's been too busy trying to figure out how to stay alive in this Oblivion-cursed place to be overly curious about them, but it seems that for whatever reason they have now saved his life. He wonders idly if that's a good or bad thing. _

_He tries to sit up, but Blue pushes him back down. "Not just yet, mate. Still got ye some mendin' to do. Give me a bit to recharge meself and I'll blast ye with another round a 'ealin'."_

_Stephen tries to use his own healing energy: the pain is too bad not to try. But he can't seem to make the spell work so he finally gives up. Magic…it's not allowed in the prison. Offensive magic, that is. He thinks the guards don't much care if you use healing spells, but try and use something else and it's an arrow in the head. He realizes that when he was being beaten, he never even tried to summon his fire. _

"_You…helped me…" he can't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Why?" It sounds suspicious to his ears, but in the year he's been on his own since fleeing Alain's house, he has never been helped without the helper wanting something in return. _

"_We saw the wankers beatin' on ye, and stompin' on ye once ye went down. Walks here said he wanted yer boots." Blue is grinning. "Figured ye weren't gonna have much use for 'em, bein' as ye already looked knackered. So we cleared off the others…they don't mess much with us…we got a bit of a reputation 'ere but that's for later. When Walks started 'elpin' 'imself ye suddenly woke up a bit and spat out 'Try it, lizard, and ye'll be me next pair.'" Blue laughed loudly at that part, and Stephen tried to remember saying something like that but could not. "After that, ye fell back into mutterin' all kinds of rich nonsense. Couldn't as well leave ye there, so we brung ye back to our 'umble abode. We don't care much none for bullies, Walks and me. Been there too many times ourselves, we 'ave, before we made a team a it."_

"I never did find out why they were in prison. Whatever it was upset Blue, he said he didn't want to talk about it. Walks-The-World gave a different answer any time anyone asked. My favorite was the story about him trying to take over the Imperial City with an army of skeevers. Anyway, it took me a while to heal, even with Blue using his magic to speed it along. Eventually I got strong enough to help with that. I also never did find out the real reason they decided to help me that day. I'd only been in prison a couple of days: got caught lifting a coinpurse and sentenced to six months for it. I was seventeen, scared out of my mind, and Imperials don't bother separating out the petty criminals from the really dangerous ones. The guards think we're all criminal scum, so if someone gets beaten or…worse…they don't give a damn.

"Walks-The-World and Blue were targets cause they were unique. Once they decided they'd had enough, they used what they knew between them to keep safe. People who tried to hurt them ended up with their necks snapped in their sleep. So once they adopted me, I was safe too. That wasn't enough for them, though. They wanted me to be safe even if they weren't around to protect me. I knew how to throw down in a tavern, but no one had ever bothered teaching me to use a weapon. Walks decided to remedy that...

"_Sticks…" Stephen is perplexed as he holds up two short twigs, and notices that Walks-The-World is carrying the same. "I thought I was going to learn how to fight." _

"_You are. It is not as If I can go up to a guard and say 'Please, Honored Brother, might I borrow some weapons? Purely educational, I can assure you.'" _

_Stephen laughs, embarrassed at his own stupidity, but he still wonders how he's supposed to learn to fight with something this small. _

"_You are thinking, what kind of sword is this?" Walks continues. "Tell me, would you ask a cow to give ale?"_

_Stephen is confused. "Only if I'd had too much ale already…"_

"_Why?" The Argonian presses him._

_Stephen's bewilderment is growing. "As far as I know, cows give milk, not ale."_

"_Yes, they behave as their nature made them. Nature has made you small and agile. Why then would you insult your nature by attempting to fight with a sword almost as heavy as you are? Were someone to give you a shield as well, it is doubtful you could even stand."_

_Blue has been standing back watching the lesson, and he nods in understanding but says nothing._

"_Do not be ashamed of this." Walks-The-World continues. "Your weapons must be the same as you: small and fast. None the less deadly for it, and often more-so because people underestimate the danger within. You are still not convinced. Perhaps a demonstration…I am going to attack you now with my sticks. Fight back with your own or with your bare hands: the choice is yours."_

_Stephen immediately drops the sticks and raises his fists: this is something he knows, the way of the bare-knuckle brawl, and he is confident in his skills when only facing one opponent. Blue is smirking now, his arms folded as he leans against the wall. The autumn wind is billowing his ragged tunic around him._

_The Argonian suddenly lunges at Stephen, poking him with the sticks. Stephen swings his fist, but Walks is already behind him, and uses one stick to give him a sharp stab in the backside. Stephen whirls and swings again, but Walks is now three feet away, holding up the sticks, and laughing. It continues like this until Stephen collapses to the ground in exhaustion, his entire body aching and bruised. Walks sits down next to him, not even winded._

"_You have limitless potential." The Argonian declares, which surprises Stephen (who is feeling rather humiliated at the moment). "Small and fast, like daggers. Shields are for those too clumsy and slow to move out of the way: far better a blow never lands. Do you wish to learn this?"_

"_I could learn to fight like you do?" Stephen isn't ready to believe. Warriors are great, hulking men who carry broadswords on their backs. He has always envied them, but never even considered that he too has abilities that could be trained for battle. That what he always considered his weakness could be turned into an advantage. Walks-The-World has opened his eyes and he is thirsty for more._

"_Perhaps never as good as me, but not all can be the best." Walks-The-World shrugs, and Blue makes a noise of derision. "Yeah, ye'll never 'ave an ego as big as the lizard 'ere." The Dunmer winks. _

"_Show me, please. I want to learn." _

"_Then pick up those sticks, and do not treat my lessons with such scorn in the future."_

"Every day we practiced. Even in the rain. Everyone else in the prison thought we were insane, but that just made them more willing to leave us alone. Whenever anyone did ask us what we were doing day after day, Walks would look at them and say 'I am teaching him how to dance'. It _was_ a dance, I still think of it like that. You have to be able to guess what moves the other person is going to make and step accordingly. I was good at it, Erik. First time I could remember being really good at anything since I gave up doing magic. You can't know how badly I wanted a set of real daggers." He reaches down and runs his hands lovingly over his Daedric weapons, forged by his own hand and among his most treasured possessions. "But that wasn't the only lessons they had in store for me. They had a plan for after they got out of prison, and I was part of them now, so they had to make sure I'd be ready to do my part…"

"_Pickin' a pocket." Blue leans back in his bedroll, his head propped up lazily on one hand, "Ain't just luck. It's about being able to read yer mark. Are they nervous about their surroundins? Afraid of bein robbed? You can read it in their faces, what they're thinkin', and iffin they ain't thinkin' the right things then ye best be movin' on to someone what is. Ye want to look for them that seem distracted, thinkin' about goin' to see their girl, or some business problem. They ain't noticin' what's goin' on anywheres outside their own noggins. Those are the ones ye want to go after, my boy. Try and look as distant as they do, like yer body is there but yer mind is up in Skyrim. When ye move, move fast. Ye got nimble little fingers, my boy. Right elf-like. Ye can 'ave them in and out of pockets before a man can blink. Steal 'is coinpurse and his left bollock too if ye please."_

"_Yes, because the one thing every master thief needs" Walks-The-World bites into a bruised apple. "Is a collection of left bollocks to display proudly in his living room."_

"'_Oo's givin' 'im this lesson, lizard, ye or me? Toss me one of them apples, my boy. There's a good lad."_

_Stephen reaches into the pile next to Walks and pulls up an apple that doesn't look quite as rotten as the other ones. The guards always sort out the best food for themselves, leaving the prisoners to squabble over the remains. If it wasn't for his friends, Stephen knows he might not get much to eat at all, or the price he'd have to pay for the privilege would be high._

_Stephen waits for Blue to bite into the apple and finish swallowing. "Anyway, as I was sayin', it's all about bein' clever enough to know what chances to take and what not to risk." He picks up a shiny black pebble from the floor of the cell and shows it to Stephen, and then puts it into his pocket. "That's me valuables. Now I'm goin' to be carryin' this around every day, and yer gonna try and steal it off of me. Rules are these, lad. Ye can try as many times a day as ye like, until I catch ye at it. Once I catch ye, ye'll have to wait until the morrow to try again."_

_One rock, thought Stephen. How hard could it be to steal one rock?_

"It took me over a month to get that stone away from him." Stephen notices Erik is no longer working on the lock but doesn't scold him for it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rock, worn smooth from handling. "Once I had it, he told me to keep it for good luck, that I'd earned it."

"Did it bring you good luck?" Erik inquires, and Stephen gives him a smile that's both loving and sad. "I was lucky enough to chase a dragon to Rorikstead one night. But if it is lucky, I wish I'd never gotten it away from him…" He closes his hand around the stone and squeezes his eyes tightly, and Erik realizes that he's trying with everything he has to hold back tears. "Blue could have used a little bit more luck…" The Breton shakes himself, pushes the bad memories aside for later.

"Lockpicking came next, and that was a bit harder to teach in prison. The guards were willing to let Walks and I hit each other with sticks, and I think they must have thought I was snuggling up at night in Blue's bedroll with as often as my hand was in his pocket, but there wasn't any way they were going to let me play with the locks on the doors. We didn't have any wire or picks, of course. We wouldn't have still been there if Walks could have figured out how to get the bloody doors open. So they taught me with pictures, drawing locks in the dirt, and we used the damn sticks again to represent the lockpicks. No way to tell on that if I was learning anything or getting better, but I paid attention. Then they showed me how to hide myself in the shadows, which I was good at doing anyway after years of living with Mum and her temper. Again, being small was good for something. Blue said that I looked young and innocent, and people weren't as likely to suspect that I was up to anything if they saw me skulking around. "

"You know," Erik tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and is aware that he is failing miserably, "I've always been led to believe that the purpose of prison is to rehabilitate someone, not teach them how to be a more effective criminal."

"It's okay." Stephen pats his hand. "I was naïve once too."

"So these crooks took you under their wing and raised you as their own. I suppose you did what you had to do to make the best of a bad situation."

"It wasn't a bad situation." Stephen stands up and paces in the small cave, his boots sending an empty ale boot rolling across the floor. "I know that it sounds utterly mad, but I was happy there. I had enough to eat, and no one was hurting me, and I had a family that gave a damn. First time in my life. Every day there was something new to learn or a story I hadn't heard before. There wasn't a lot to laugh at in that place, but they always managed to find something. Once Walks started a rumor that we weren't going to be given any more meat or cheese: just apples and water. Almost started a riot, that did, and there we were right out in front yelling and protesting, when we knew bloody well they weren't planning on doing any such thing. One day Blue managed to sneak a fireball into the table where the guards played cards in the evening. Sent them scattering like roaches in the light. They went mad trying to figure out who did it, but there were enough Bretons milling about in there that they never did manage to pin it on Blue. "

Stephen sits back down abruptly. "One day the head of the guards called me down into his office. I was racking my head trying to figure out what I'd done that he knew about, but it ended up being worse than I thought: he wanted to tell me that I only had a week to go of my time before I was a free man again. In his eyes, I'd been pretty well-behaved during my stay and he gave me a big speech about how rewarding honest work was, and that I'd do well to get away from the likes of my…associates. I guess he meant well enough, but I was too thrown to think much about it. I hadn't realized that much time had passed since I'd been thrown inside. I should have been happy, but I was terrified.

"Blue still had three months to go on his time, and Walks-The-World had about five, so I was going out alone. I thought about doing something to get tossed right back in, but Blue said if I did that he'd beat me so hard we'd be twins. He said I had to try and get things set up for them, for when they could join me. Try and find us a place to stay, some weapons, that sort of thing. My last night there in that cell I didn't sleep at all. I just kept hoping the sun never came up.

"But it did of course, and the guards came for me, and led me outside, and told me to behave, and let me go. As scared as I was, I didn't want to Blue and Walks down, so I set about doing what they asked me to do.

"I rented this shack. Not that it was much, but it wasn't expensive and the old hag who owned it was glad of the extra coin. I also worked out a deal with a blacksmith to do his smelting for him in exchange for his scraps and a few coins. He wasn't a bad guy so I never took anything from him, and he liked me enough to teach me a few things. That's how I got interested in smith-work. When I forged my first pair of iron daggers, I was so proud. They weren't very sharp and didn't look like much, but they were beauties in my eyes.

"For those months, Erik, I was almost an honest man. I knew if I went back, Walks and Blue would be out before I was and maybe my next time in prison would go a lot worse. So I was careful. I mean, if something was left just lying about it might end up in my pocket: I had to pay off that old crone somehow. I was lonely and I missed my egg brothers, but it wasn't as bad as I thought."

Erik thinks Stephen would have been better off being left to that life, away from his beloved 'brothers' but keeps these thoughts to himself. He decides to give the chest lock another go, and waits for Stephen to continue.

"I kept counting the days, and finally one morning I went down to the prison and there were the guards leading out Blue. He was looking around kind of bewildered, but he started grinning when he saw me and we were hugging right there in front of the guards.

"_Well met, lil Skeever. And 'ere I told old Walks that we'd never see that fair 'ead of yers again, my boy. Figured ye'd be 'alfway cross Tamriel by now. _

_Stephen is stung until he sees the teasing glint in Blue's eyes. "I stuck to the Plan, if it pleases you." He replies instead, setting off back toward the small village that borders the prison and the rented shack. "Got us a roof that doesn't leak too badly, managed to put some coin aside. How's Walks?"_

"_Ready to climb the walls to escape. 'e missed you terribly, lad, although ye know 'ow 'ard it is to get a straight answer outta that lizard's mouth. 'E'll be ours again soon enough, don't fret. In the meanwhile, we'll continue with the Plan. Get some real trainin' under yer belt."_

"Wait…" Erik holds up his hand. "Skeever?"

"That's what they called me in prison. It sounds a bit like Stephen, I suppose. I didn't mind. I liked having a nickname. It was kind of a jolt hearing it again that day, though. I'd been Stephen again since my release."

Stephen pauses again. "I told you that I'd been living pretty honestly. Part of me wanted to keep on that way. I liked working at that smithy. It felt good to have gold in my pocket that I'd earned the right way. It made me feel like a man. Blue was so excited to be able to get started with our Plan, though. It wasn't a hard decision to make: I know you probably wish it had been harder for me…"

Erik sighs, and then shakes his head. "Tell me the rest. Please."

"Blue moved us into a shack on the waterfront of the Imperial City. There were more criminals there than in the prison, and some of them a lot worse. At first when I found out how many friends Blue had there, I wondered why he hadn't sent me to the waterfront when I got released. Then I figured out that he was afraid for me, afraid of what would happen if he wasn't there to protect me.

"But we got settled in without too much trouble, and let me tell you, the Imperial City is a treasure-house for thieves…it was time for me to get some real practice in…"

_The feeling of the lock slipping into place is familiar now, but still gives the boy called Skeever a sense of satisfaction. With another sideways glance for guards, he eases open the door of the gem shop and slips inside, shutting it behind him._

_It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when they do he sucks in his breath at the glitter of the jewels in their various display cases, sparkles on a sea of black velvet. Blue has a particular buyer lined up for these stones, and Skeever is proud that his friend entrusted him to break into the shop on his own to pull it off. He's only done a few after-darks by himself, but he's light on his feet and quick, and can pop open a lock now in half the time it takes anyone else, even Blue. _

_He goes to work doing just that, his fingers and picks moving by instinct in the dark. He listens to the subtle noises from the case-locks, telling him he's close. He also listens for sounds from the apartment upstairs, ready to flee in an instant if someone should awaken. But he's left in peace tonight as he opens one display after another, stuffing the gemstones into his pockets. He suddenly has the oddest feeling that everyone else in the world has vanished, that there is no one slumbering in ignorance above his and that when he leaves the shop he will emerge into a deserted world. _

_Skeever shakes off the strange thoughts and continues divesting the store of its inventory, until he is satisfied that he's pocketed everything of value. He also helps himself to a slightly stale sweetroll from behind the counter, no doubt intended for someone's breakfast in a few hours. Pity they'll have to find something else._

_Later, back in the shack, Blue lets the gems pour like water out of his hand, his face delighted. "Skeever, my lad, yer the real gem in all a this. This'll give us plenty a travelin' money for when we fetch Walks in a few days. After that, lad, the world is ours."_

"He was right. It seems like the Divines either approved of us, or were willing to look the other way. Walks was one happy lizard to see us waiting for him. Blue wore his heart on his sleeve, but Walks is hard to read. You know what he wants you to know. He was happy that day, though. We were a family again.

"So we traveled. Walks-The-World, Blue, and Skeever, the Egg Brothers. We didn't have a set goal or destination. We talked about that and figured we'd come up with one someday, but after being locked up for so long we were just enjoying being free. Tamriel was our playground. No, that won't work."

Erik has shoved about five picks into the lock on the chest, and is twisting them all at once. Stephen reaches over and removes all but one. The Nord grunts and glares at the stubborn lock.

"Eventually we'd settled in on the outskirts of Burma, and were planning on staying there for a little while. The Nords there had a pretty good trade route going with their relatives back home, and we figured it was ripe for the picking. I remember our first night there, Blue and Walks bought me mead for the first time. I couldn't get enough of the stuff. Woke up the next morning with my head exploding, but according to Walks-The-World the Nords were impressed with how much I managed to put away. Apparently while they were all watching me make an idiot out of myself, my brothers were lifting every coinpurse in the place. After that I wasn't so embarrassed."

"I got it!" Erik interrupts, clapping his hands. "Stephen, I got it. It's open!"

"I told you that you could do it. Let's see what we've got." Stephen peers into the chest. "Some gold…nice. A few potions, always use those. Ebony axe, and with a fire enchantment. Oh, that's a lovely find: we can sell that for a lot of coin. Ready to go?"

Erik closes the lid of the chest. "Not quite yet. What happened to you in Burma?"

Stephen shrugs. "Things…I told you, I wanted to rob more Nords so I came here."

"Stephen…" Erik reaches over and pries the axe out of the Breton's hands and lies it on top of the chest. "Tell me the rest of it. Something happened…what happened to your friends, to Blue?"

Stephen looks angry, and jerks away from Erik. "It's not important."

"I think it is. I'm not leaving until you finish this. You need to."

Stephen fingers the rock again. "I called him my brother, but he was more than that…Walks is my brother, but Blue… somewhere in this world, if he ain't been run through with a sword, is a man who got my mother pregnant. I suppose he's my father. But my true Da was a Dunmer who felt sorry for a scrawny little human and tried to keep him safe. He named me, taught me, raised me. I don't care that people would think of him as a worthless criminal: he was a good man."

"How did he die?" Erik hates himself for pressing, but he knows he has to lance this wound or it will continue to fester.

"We were making quite the haul from Burma, so much so that Blue's contacts couldn't fence it fast enough. So we were hiding the excess in a little cave. Some local bandits figured out what we were doing, but didn't know where our stash was. One night Blue and I came back from the tavern and found our shack completely trashed and Walks-The-World missing. The bandits had left a note, if you could call it that, the spelling was so atrocious, saying if we wanted our lizard back we would come to this old fort they'd taken over and bring our spoils with us. They'd trade him over once they had the goods.

"I don't think I've ever seen Blue so angry. Sometimes I think that Walks-The-World was the first real friend he'd ever had: they bickered all the time, but the thought of someone hurting him had Blue out for blood. He said we weren't bringing so much as a septim with us, that we were going to take down every bandit there and get Walks back 'the honest way'. I was filled with the same righteous anger and was ready for battle. My daggers itching to slit some bandit throats.

"There were only a few of them, Erik, the bandits. Some of them grown men, but a lot of them really just boys. I didn't scare them much when we showed up, but when Blue started casting around lightning bolts, that got their attention. Which is what he wanted, because that let me slip through the shadows and up to the cage where they'd stashed Walks. A few of the buggers tried to stop me along the way, but I cut them down without even stopping. I was up on the walk-way, and from down below I kept seeing the flash of Blue's magic, and I felt invincible…" Stephen stops again and takes a ragged breath. "It was easier than I'd thought it was going to be. Like I said, we were dealing with kids really and not soldiers. I thought about that later, that it was actual people I was killing, but all I wanted at the moment was to get to Walks-The-World.

"_I was wondering when you would arrive." Walks-The-World peers out from the cage at the Breton. "Stopped to take in the sights along the way?"_

"_Stuff it, Walks. We came: we could have just given them the goods and gotten you out sooner, but we didn't think you'd want that." Stephen quickly picks the lock on the cage and pulls the rather cramped Argonian out. "Blue's cleaning up the last of them. How did they manage to get the drop on you, anyway?"_

_Walks gives him a bland look. "I wasn't aware that they had."_

"_They stuffed you in a ruddy cage. What, you went along willingly to have a holiday?"_

"_I was planning on breaking free and killing them in their sleep. You've merely acted as a catalyst to my plans." _

"_Fine." Blue has come up the stairs to the walkway, and the yard below is silent. "Next time yer scaly 'ide gets taken, Skeever and I'll leave ye there to 'andle it yerself. Ye could at least say thank ye."_

_Stephen doesn't know if Walks would have ever thanked them or not. He sees a movement out of the corner of his eye, and time seems to slow down. One of the bandits, an archer, is mortally wounded but is not dead yet. She has managed to get to her bow, notch an arrow, and let it fly with the last of her strength. The bow falls out of her limp hand and the arrow slices through the air, so close to Stephen's ear that he feels the wooden shaft kiss against the flesh. _

_He watches in horror as the tip of the arrow strikes Blue in the throat and imbeds. Blue's hands fly up to his neck and he makes a choking sound, and his body sways and then tumbles off the walk-way and plummets to the ground below._

_Stephen runs toward the stairs, but he does not scream. Blue would laugh at him for panicking. The Dunmer is a great mage: he's probably already healed himself and will soon be sending Stephen back up the stairs to loot the archer's bow. Maybe he'll keep the arrow as a souvenir…_

_Blue is lying crumpled on the ground as Stephen approaches him, the arrow still sticking out of his throat, and his eyes open and fixed on the sky above. _

"_Blue, hold on! I'll heal you, like you healed me!" Stephen puts his hands on the Dunmer's chest and lets his healing magic flow. "Come on, Blue! Wakey, wakey! WAKE UP, YOU STUPID ELF!"_

_He feels himself being pulled off of Blue's body. "You waste your time and energy." Walks-The-World has turned the boy to face him, his hands like iron bands on Stephen's head. "He's gone."_

_Stephen rage and grief overwhelm him, and he turns both on Walks-The-World. "It's your fault! You were stupid enough to get captured! He'd still be alive if it wasn't for you!"_

_Walks gives him a look of sorrow in return. "I know this. If I could trade my life for his and return him to you, I would. But no gods would accept such a poor bargain. I am sorry." The Argonian reaches over and removes the arrow from Blue's throat, and runs a hand down his face, closing his eyes. "Azura keep you, my beloved brother. Forgive me…"_

_Stephen shakes his head, knowing that it's not really Walks' fault, but can't speak. He is not a crier: his mother beat his tears out of him long ago, but he starts to cry now, to wail and scream at the sky, and Walks joins in with him. They hold each other, with Blue's body between them, and no one hears their hearts breaking except the carrion birds already circling overhead._

"We buried him, and…we buried the stash with him. We couldn't touch it after that, didn't want it. Maybe someday someone will find his body and the bloody fortune we left with it. I hope not for a while though. Blue deserves some peace."

"Stephen, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say." Erik looks at his hands, as if the answer is written there.

"Walks and I just had each other after that. He forgave me for blaming him at first, and we stayed around Burma. We said the loot was still good, but the truth is that neither one of us wanted to leave Blue's body yet. He was still our mate, still one of us. We were there for a while, then I noticed Walks looking kind of distracted. He finally told me that he'd left his home in Black Marsh when he was a hatchling, changed his name from An-Zee to Walks-The-World, and decided to do just that. He said he had family there, and wanted to see them again.

"I'd already got the itch in my shoes to go to Skyrim, and we decided we'd both do what we wanted. Split up for a little bit. We made an agreement to meet up in Riften in a year and see if the Thieves Guild would have us. So Walks headed for home and I headed for the border…you know the rest.

"It has to be getting close to that year mark…"

"Almost. Truth is, Erik, I am planning on meeting him there. Not to join the Guild, but I've got a lot to tell him. I need to make him understand why I can't go back to that life. I owe him that: I owe him a lot more than that, but I can't just leave him wondering what happened to me. He already lost Blue, and if he's going to lose me too he needs to know why, and that I'm not angry at him…"

"So it's back to Riften, then." Erik sighs. "You couldn't have picked a nicer place to meet up with him? No, I suppose not. Well, I want to meet him. You said it yourself, he helped save your life. I have to thank him for that."

Stephen embraces Erik tightly, to the Nord's surprise. "Do you think he can see me? Do you think he knows?"

Erik understands what Stephen is asking. "I think he's probably very proud. Come on, let's head back to Dragon Bridge. I'm famished and we didn't bring enough to spend the night."

Stephen nods, and Erik helps him to his feet, hanging the ebony axe from his belt. They walk toward the entrance of the cave and the make-shift door the bandits have set up, when something on the floor catches the Nord's eye. He bends down and picks it up, seeing that it's a crude wooden carving of some kind of animal…

"What's that?" Stephen peers into Eriks' hand.

Erik turns the carving over. "It's a skeever. See? The tail, and the pointy noise…"

Stephen stares for a long moment at the wooden rodent. "May I…have that?" He asks softly.

Erik silently hands it over, and Stephen tucks it into his pocket next to the rock.

_So much to do, Blue. So many people wanting so many things from me. Please be proud._

As they exit the cave, the wind is blowing wildly around them. Stephen hears it whistling through the trees, and for a moment it seems to form words.

_Always, lil' Skeever. Always._


	2. WalksTheWorld

_**Note: The characters of Skyrim are owed by Bethesda. I just dress them up and play with them. In this chapter, Walks-The-World and Stephen are reunited, and Stephen learns there are worse things that having people you care about dislike each other. Also, someone makes a poor decision in regards to dinner. On a side note, don't drop your dagger in the hot springs by accident. It takes forever to find...**_

**Walks-The-World**

****"That's him, Erik! He came!"

Erik has reluctantly come to accept that Stephen doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve and will never be comfortable being affectionate in public. He doesn't really like it or understand it, but it's just who Stephen is and he can live with it. So therefore he is a bit taken by surprise to see Jarl Propriety himself run across the Bee and Barb, in full view of everyone, and launch himself into the arms of an Argonian with a whoop of joy.

The Argonians are not known for being the most expressive of people, but the way the lizard is embracing Stephen back it obviously that he just as happy to see the Breton as Stephen is to see him. Erik cannot help but be touched: there are whispers throughout the Bee speculating on what the Dragonborn's relationship is with the stranger, and Erik mutters out of the side of his mouth "They're brothers" before inviting himself to sit down at the Argonian's table. Left the gossips of Riften try and figure_ that_ one out.

He is glad Stephen's doubts were put to rest at the sight of Walks-The-World. The entire way to Riften, he had seen the worry and fear in the Breton's eyes. Worry that his old friend wouldn't show up, that something had happened, that unlike Blue he would spend the rest of his life never knowing the fate that had befallen the Argonian. This was combined with the worry that Walks would be there, but would be angry at Stephen for no longer wanting to be partners in crime. The stress had even crept into his dreams: Erik's heart broke each time he heard Stephen reliving the pain of Blue's death and crying out for the Dunmer not to leave him. By the time they reached the town, the Breton looked like death reanimated.

Now Walks-The-World was pulling Stephen down into a vacant chair, still clasping his hands. "I was not sure you would come." The Argonian admits softly.

"Of course I came. We had an agreement." Stephen never takes his eyes off Walks. They might as well be in another realm all alone, Erik thinks. He tries to feel jealous about that, but isn't able to.

"Ah, but my agreement was made with Skeever." The Argonian releases Stephen's hands and leans back against his chair, studying him. "Not with the great and mightly Dovahkiin."

Erik hasn't known a lot of Argonians in his life: Skyrim tends to be too cold for them in more ways than one. He realizes he has never noticed before just how much they resemble dragons. He knows enough to know they're not connected to the monsters in any way, but he wonders how much harder that superficial resemblance has made their lives since Alduin returned.

Stephen blushes. "Heard about that, did you?"

"The legend of the Dragonborn is on everyone's lips. The stories were most enjoyable, but it is only recently that I learned to whom they were referring. Such pride, you cannot imagine, my Egg Brother. _He_ would be proud.

Stephen blinks rapidly. "Walks…it's better to see you than you know…there's so much I have to tell you, but things have changed for me…" He finally notices the somewhat-amused Nord next to him. "This is Erik, my partner. More…more than my partner. He's an great warrior and he's helping me fight the dragons. What's going on here, Walks, it's so big. Bigger than I am…but I have to do it, because there's no one else who can."

The Argonian nods calmly, and then addresses Erik. "His partner, are you? And more? Tell me, have you eaten food that he has prepared?"

Erik is surprised by the question. "I'm not sure it's food by that point but…yes…"

"I beg your pardon?"

Walks-The-World ignores Stephen. "And yet you live. You are indeed the mighty warrior he claims."

Erik explodes with laughter, earning him a sharp poke in the arm from a disgruntled Stephen. "There have been nights I've had my doubts about seeing the sun rise."

Walks-The-World sighs. "So much in him has changed. It is relieving to know that this has not. I have changed too, my old friend. One of the things I hear is that the Dragonborn does not turn away from a person in need. Today I am that person." He turns his palms upward. "I would ask the Dovahkiin to hear my tale and hope that he would take pity on my wretched heart."

"Oh, knock it off, you old con-artist." Stephen helps himself to the drink Walks was sipping when they entered the tavern, and takes a big swig. "What sort of trouble are you in, and how much is it going to cost me to get your scaly ass out of it?"

"The worst sort of trouble a man could possibly have." Walks-The-World hangs his head sorrowfully. "I have fallen in love."

Stephen chokes on the drink, and Erik claps him hard on the back. "I'm sorry…you've _what_?"

"I have fallen. In love." Walks-The-World sounds annoyed now. "This shocks you why? Do you think that I do not have the same needs as any other man, alone in this cold and unforgiving land?"

"Let me guess. She gave you a discount and it was love at first sight." Stephen grins.

"You wound me, Skeever. You've grown so cruel during your time away." Walks puts his hand over his heart. "I will have you know she is honest and hard-working. Since her hatching, she has slaved on the docks of Windhelm, never appreciated for her true worth, almost worked to death under the tyranny of Ulfric Stormcloak. The sight of her tanning her leather, her scales glittering in the cold sunlight, I have never been so struck, never witnessed such beauty. Shahvee." He says the name with reverence. "Her name is Shahvee, and she is going to be my wife."

"That's wonderful!" Stephen grabs Walks' hand and shakes it. "I'm so happy for you! When's the wedding? Do you have a place to live?"

"Ah…therein lies my problem." Walks sighs again. "I have, through hard work, acquired a manor befitting my Shahvee. She deserves no less than luxury for the rest of her days: our children will not be dock workers!" He spits out the last words. "However, my money has run short in furnishing our new abode, and I cannot ask her to be my wife and live in a half-empty house. Proudspire Manor must be as perfect as I can make it before I take her there."

"Proudspire?" Stephen nearly chokes again. "How in the name of Oblivion did you afford that place?"

"I have told you, though hard work. These Nords guard their valuables closely: it has been no easy task relieving them of their property. Especially since I was forced to labor without your skills to aid me. However, a man in love must do what he must. I only need another 5,000 Septims. That, Egg Brother, is where you come in. I have a business proposition for you that, if successful, will give me what I need and reward you handsomely as well." Walks sees the look on Erik's face and chuckles. "All completely legal, I assureyou."

"Uh huh. " Stephen looks skeptical. "You couldn't take a nap without breaking some kind of law. Let's hear it, lizard. What kind of trouble are you planning on getting me into?"

Walks nods his head at the patrons pretending not to listen to their conversation. "We should speak somewhere more private."

To the disappointment of their audience, Stephen agrees. He and Erik follow Walks-The-World toward the door of the Bee, and before they are even outside Erik sees the Argonian's quick fingers pocket a rind of cheese from someone else's table and a small coinpurse from a woman flirting with a young Nordsman feigning disinterest. Erik decides he would be more offended by this if he thought that anyone here had earned anything honestly in their lives.

Erik slaps his hip once they're out the door, and Meeko and Vigilance fall in step behind them. The Rift is warmer than the northern areas of Skyrim, and there is a gentle breeze today. The Nord notices that not only does Walks have daggers hanging from his hips, but that he moves and walks in a way that it striking similar to Stephen's. Or rather, Erik supposes that Stephen walks like the Argonian. Except for the fact that Walks-The-World has a tail sticking out from under his light armor, and is, well, green, he and the Breton really could pass themselves off as brothers.

Once outside the town, Stephen heads toward one of his favorite areas, the hot springs. Erik chuckles to himself, remembering how while playing in the water Stephen had once dropped one of his beloved daggers and spent the next few hours frantically trying to find it. That reminds him…

"Stephen…" Erik calls out. "Didn't you have a present for your friend?"

"Yes! Thank you!" Stephen looks excited, and reaches into his backsack. "Turns out I've got a knack for smith work, believe it or not. I made these for you. You better like them, lizard, because Daedra hearts are a bitch to find." He pulls out twin daggers similar to his own. "This one has a fire enchantment. This one has lightning. I'll show you how to recharge them when they need it. "

"Skeever…" Walks accepts the daggers in awe. "These are magnificent!" He tests one edge with a thumb. "I'm honored to accept." He removes his own steel weapons and drops them to the ground without missing a beat, and installs the Daedrics in their place. Meeko bounds forward and sniffs eagerly at the discarded daggers on the outside chance that they might be edible. Vigilance sighs and gives Meeko a not-so-gentle push onward.

Erik wants to snap "His name is Stephen!" but stops himself because clearly Stephen doesn't mind the rather unflattering nickname. They continue in silence until they reach the edge one a small spring. Stephen sits down and removes his boots, sighing as he soaks is feet in the water. Walks-The-World joins him, and after a moment so does Erik. A glance around shows no one else around. In the distance, the sun is just setting behind the hills, and the Nord takes in a deep breath, enjoying the peace and knowing it will be short-lived. This is a beautiful area of the country, he thinks. It's too bad Riften is there to spoil it.

"So what's going on, Walks?" Stephen finally asks. "What's this plan of yours?"

"Well, it goes back to something Blue and I discussed before you were even a glint in a judge's eye. Our friend was quite an adventurer before we crossed paths, and there was a story from Skyrim that had whetted his interest. A great treasure collected and stored by the Dragon Priests, guarded by what I am certain are a delightful array of traps, undead somethings, and wards. You would ask, if this treasure is so grand why no one has claimed it? Many have tried, and those that survived have never attempted it again. Blue received a description of the location from one such individual, and passed it along to me."

"Why didn't he ever tell me about it?" Stephen was hurt.

"What would you have done with such information?" Walks appears to be smiling, but with an Argonian that can be hard to tell, Erik thinks.

"Gone after it, of course."

"Exactly why Blue did not mention it. Your skills as a thief were in those days impeccable. Your fighting abilities, alas, were green. He wanted to wait until you were older, with more battles under your belt, before exposing you to such danger." Walks reaches down and stirs the water with his hand. "We argued about that at times, outside of your hearing. I thought he babied you too much, put too much effort into keeping you safe. I believed you would only grow tougher through exposure to difficult situations. In the end, I deferred to his wishes."

Something in the Argonian's explanation tugs at Erik's heart. He can imagine Stephen's de facto parents bickering about what was best for him, and he wishes suddenly he could have met Blue. He still hasn't decided yet whether or not he likes Walks-The-World, but he thinks he definitely would have taken to the dark elf.

"When you were older" Walks-The-World continues "this was going to be our grand heist. Blue thought there was enough in there to set us up for life. I do not know about that: the value of any treasure escalates in stories the longer it goes unclaimed. However, I do believe that there is enough there to complete my home, and to provide you with coin to do what it is that you do now. The owners of this treasure have been dead for many years: I believe it is well time someone relieved them of it."

"Dragon Priests." Stephen shakes his head. "That means draugr. Lots and lots of draugr." He notices the confusion on Walks face and laughs. "You'll see. They'll make your skin crawl. What about it, lover?" He splashes a little of the warm water on Erik's leg. "Up for an adventure?"

Erik tries to think of a reason to say no. They really don't need the money right now, but he isn't naïve enough to think that it might not become an issue in the future. Everyone wants help from the Dragonborn, but no one really wants to finance Stephen's efforts on their behalf. Extra cash would definitely ease things.

Walks seems to want the money for a legitimate purpose, even if he has come by his lavish home by picking every pocket from Solitude to Riften. The Nord knows what it's like to be hopelessly in love, after all. Plus, it isn't as if the treasure (if it actually exists) belongs to anyone except perhaps Alduin. Stealing from Alduin is more than acceptable: it is almost an obligation.

"I'm in." Erik wonders if he'll come to regret this.

Stephen reaches into his pack again and pulls out several bottles of mead. He hands one to Erik and another one to Walks. "We're going after that treasure, lizard. Blue would have wanted us to have it. I know he'd want you to marry your Shahvee. It's as good as ours."

Walks-The-World takes a long swig of the mead, and raises his bottle. Stephen clinks his own against the glass. "For Blue."

"For Blue." Walks repeats. "In the hopes that he isn't laughing at us too hard."

The world around them suddenly shakes and there is an ear-splitting shriek. Walks drops his bottle of mead into the hot spring, and the dogs begin barking furiously at the sky as a black shadow moves over the small group.

"Bloody hell. Can't get a minute. Can't get a blessed minute of peace!" Stephen scrambles to his feet, daggers already in hand. "Seems you've been in Skyrim a while now, Walks. Fought any dragons yet?" Behind them, Erik is already sending arrows flying upwards.

"I cannot say I have had that pleasure." Walks has his own weapons drawn.

"Well, you're about to learn how." Stephen does not look particularly worried. "If you don't mind me taking out a relative."

The dragon lands in front of them and Shouts out a stream of fire, and the men dive to the side to avoid it. "I am not…related to that…thing!" Walks-The-World snaps. "Kill it!"

"That's what I do now, my friend." Stephen sounds both proud and sad at the same time. "Come on, it's just a puny one. We'll have it routed before the sun's gone."

The dragon, for his part, had actually been more interested in snatching up one of the tasty looking dogs and being gone before the men noticed what had happened. It isn't that he minds the taste of human, but these humans are wearing a lot of armor and he likes his meals less complicated. Still, if they want a fight he'll give them one. No mortal was able to….wait…was that…

The dragon has only a few seconds to reflect on his supremely bad luck in picking Dovahkiin of all people to engage. Then Stephen is driving his daggers over and over into the creature's head, and the fight is over before it has even begun. Stephen sneers down at the corpse, and waits for what he knows is about to happen, a moment that he both relishes and dreads.

"Watch." Erik whispers quietly to Walks-The-World, his hand on the Argonian's right arm. "You need to see this."

Together, they bear witness as Stephen absorbs the soul of the unfortunately dragon, and Erik hears Walks suck in his breath in amazement.

"We need him." Erik continues softly. "Skyrim needs him. The _world_ needs him. I need him. I'll help him find this treasure for you, but you can't have him back."

The Argonian nods once. "I am most painfully aware of that."

Stephen sheaths his daggers and heads over to Erik and Walks-The-World, cracking his shoulders. "The little ones are mostly annoying at this point. The older ones are a lot more trouble. They're more common up North and on mountains, and they all want to impress Alduin by killing themselves a Dragonborn. "

"Who is Alduin?" Walks asks. "He sounds most unpleasant."

"He's the one those ruddy priests collected all that loot in honor of. Come on, let's head back to town and I'll tell you all about him. If you're an especially good lizard, maybe you'll even get to meet him on this little adventure of ours. We'll tell him that you're his long-lost cousin."

"Your ability to tell a joke has not improved over the past year." Walks says dryly. "They are, you realize, supposed to be funny."

"Stephen's great for a laugh." Erik interjects. "Just try and keep a straight face when he hands you something that looks like one of the dogs rolled in it and tells you that its dinner."

"Have you seen him drunk yet?" Walks wants to know, moving to travel next to the Nord. "He seems to believe himself a bard during those times, only no one quite recognizes the songs he sings nor the language he's singing them in."

"It gets better. Before I met him, he apparently got intoxicated enough to purpose marriage to a hagraven."

"Which was told you in strict confidence!" Stephen turns around and snaps back at a grinning Erik.

"Oh dear…" Walks looks worried. "I killed one of them on my way to Riften. My most sincere apologies, Skeever. I doubt very much she would have been your type."

The two men roar with laughter, and Stephen makes a rude gesture in their direction, which sets them off even more. At least, he thinks sourly, they seem to be getting along.

That doesn't make him as happy as it should.


	3. Little Lamb

_**Notes: Still don't own them. Not sure any one is actually reading this, but this is one of those stories that I need to write anyway. : ) If you are reading it, thank you! I really don't like Morthal: it's a very depressing place, but I do like the Jarl. I find her one of the more interesting characters in the game and she'll be in the next chapter. Warning: this chapter has some violence and what I consider disturbing content. Read at your own risk. (I wanted to use a real Norse lullaby but couldn't find one, so I had to make one up on the fly.)**_

**Little Lamb**

The carriage bumps along across the rocky tundra, jostling the three occupants (five counting the dogs) but not to the point of discomfort. The driver had intended to take them down a smoother, slightly longer route but giants on the move have forced him to change course. He glances back at his passengers in silent apology, and Erik gives him a gesture of reassurance.

The Nord and the Argonian sit across from each other on the narrow wooden benches. Stephen lies on his back on the carriage floor, up against the front panel, using a sleeping Meeko as a pillow. Vigilance lies at his feet, tail thumping now and then. If asked, Stephen would insist that he's watching the sky for dragons, but in truth he's trying to see images and shapes in the fluffy white clouds above. Erik and Walks are deep in a conservation about Skryim politics, and although the topic concerns him, Stephen does not feel the need right now to contribute or do more than half-listen: he cannot recall being this content in a long time.

"So they'd both like to claim him." Erik is saying as he breaks apart a loaf of bread and hands part of it to Walks-The-World. "Not because they like him, but because they can use him as… Stephen, what's that word you told me? Something to convince someone to join your side?" He offers the Argonian a small pot of butter too, and his companion eagerly accepts.

"Propaganda." Stephen replies absently, and yawns. _That one looks like a falmer…_

"Right. They both want to use him as propaganda. The Dragonborn supports our side: you should too." Erik munchs his bread for a moment. "Between Tullius and Ulfric, Ulfric would have the better chance of getting Stephen's aid, and mine as well, if he wasn't so bent on Skyrim being not only ruled by us but reserved for us as well. "

"Breton." Stephen raises his left arm in the air. "I suspect if I did help that pompous ass become High King, he'd thank me and shake my hand, and then immediately throw me on a boat back to High Rock. Not that I've got a great love for Tullius, either. Bloody bastard tried to have my head lopped off like I was some kind of common criminal!"

"Which I find very offensive." Erik grinned down at Stephen. "There's nothing at all common about you."

"Thank you. I was an excellent criminal. Walks will vouch for me, won't you, Brother?"

"He was a prodigy." Walks-The-World nods gravely. "You were a farmer. You have seen what locusts can do to a crop. Imagine the three of us, strolling through a town, devouring all of the coin-purses and pretty baubles in our path. I assure you, we were magnificent."

In spite of himself, Erik can picture this in his mind, and he sighs. "I'll accept your word for that. We should reach Morthal in another few hours. We can stay the night there, and then head out on foot in the morning. "

Stephen makes a sound of disgust.

"Stephen isn't fond of Morthal." Erik explains to Walks-The-World. "It's in a rather odd location: it's cold enough for it to snow, but not cold enough for the snow to stick very much. It mostly melts and floods the area, so what you've got are a bunch of houses on stilts over a half-frozen marsh. It's not the most cheerful place, but they do have a good inn, and the Jarl likes us. If I can put up with Riften the number of times I find myself dragged there, he can put up with Morthal for one night."

Stephen notices one of the clouds resembles a fox, and it makes him smile. He likes foxes, likes the little chuffing, grumbling noises they make as they run along beside him, and he refuses to hunt them as a result. There are other creatures he is not as fond of…

"Walks, I swear to you, if I end up a bloody vampire for this treasure of yours, your neck is the first one I'm biting. " Stephen mutters. "We cleared out a nest of them not long past, but more keep trying to creep into the area. The Jarl wrote to me that they've got an issue with some of their youngsters trying to sneak off and join up with the bastards."

Erik cannot help himself. "They should do the respectable thing and run off to join prison gangs instead."

Walks-The-World cackles and Erik joins in. Stephen is unable to think of a clever retort for that so he snuggles closer into the dog's fur. Meeko wakes up for a moment and gives him a sloppy lick on the cheek before going back to sleep. Well, at least the dog still respects him. ..

"I'm going to sleep." Stephen finally grumbles. "Wake me up when we get there, or when the undead attack. "

The Dragonborn closes his eyes, seeing the red of the light behind his closed lids. The sunlight is warm on his face. They really have their nerve, not only seeming to like each other after all his worries, but ganging up on him as well…his lips twist into a grin as he imagines Shouting both Erik and Walks-The-World out of the carriage. That would teach them a little Dovahkiin respect…

_It's twilight, and the snow is blowing hard through the camp._

_Around a half dozen or so bonfires, the prisoners huddle in a feeble and futile attempt to stave off the cold of the winter night. The rags that hang from their emaciated bodies offer no protection at all, not like the rich, thick furs their captors wear as they strut through the camp looking for offenses to punish. _

_Huddled as close to the blaze as she dares, a young blonde woman (who was at one time pretty, perhaps even beautiful) rocks a fair-haired little boy in her arms. The boy is five, although he doesn't know this, and having been almost completely starved for all that he can remember, he appears far younger. He rests the side of his head against his mother's chest, his sunken eyes closed, and he listens as she sings softly:_

What do you seek, little lamb, little lamb?

What do you seek, so early this day?

What do you seek, little lamb, little lamb?

What causes my darling to stray?

This my mother I seek, Shepard Boy, Shepard Boy

This my mother I seek, she has wandered away

This my mother I seek, Shepard Boy, Shepard Boy

I must find her: I've no time to play

Thy mother is safe, little lamb, little lamb

This mother is safe, have no fear on this day

She's been taken to shear: she'll be back with thee soon

So my darling, there's no need to stray.

_An elderly man pushes a piece of bread into the mother's hand, and she offers it to her son. Although he's had nothing to eat now in nearly a day, he only nibbles at the food._

"_Is he any better?" the man whispers._

"_Halfway to Sovngarde." The mother whispers back, her heart breaking on every word. "By the Gods, they'll not find a way to harm him there."_

"_On your feet, all of you!" A voice, familiar and hated, cuts through the night. "Quickly now." There is the sound of a whip cracking and a man's voice crying in pain. "Line up! You know what to do!"_

_The mother lurches to her feet, still cradling her son against her chest, and stumbles to join the other captives in a rag-tag line. The old man puts a comforting hand on her arm, and she gives him a smile of thanks. There's little for her to smile about these days, but she was raised to recognize kindness and by the Gods they'll not take that away from her as well._

"_Well, you're all in luck. We only need three tonight." The man addressing the captives isn't one of the Priests. The mother thinks that would be easier, knowing that they were facing something not quite or no longer human. The fact that Braluf is a Nord, as normal looking as the men she grew up with, is what makes her sick to her stomach. He's doing this to his own people…_

_Braluf observes the line carefully. "You." He points a young man. Next to him, a middle age woman cries out and grabs the victim's arm, but the young man gently pries her off. "It's alright, Mother." She begins to weep as her son kisses her cheek. "Father's probably getting into all kinds of trouble in Sovngarde without anyone to keep him in line. Be brave: I'm not afraid of anything they can do to me." His hair glitters red in the firelight as he proudly walks up to Braluf, his eyes full of scorn. Braluf only chuckles._

"_You." He points at a man in his middle years. "You're next." The man gives him a blank look and shuffles forward, past the point of caring what happens to him next."_

_The others hold their breath as Braluf takes his time announcing the third and final choice._

"_You." He points at the mother. "Put the brat down and join the men."_

"_No! Please, my lord! My son is sick! He needs me. He'll die without me! I'll do anything!" The young woman begins to panic. _

_Braluf strolls forward and glances down at the pleading woman and her son. Without a word, he jerks the little boy from his mother's arms, and before anyone in the camp can react or move, he slashes a thin black dagger across the child's throat. The little boy cries out, once, and the mother's scream splits the night as Braluf throw's her son's lifeless body down onto the snow. _

"_Well, that should take care of your objections." Braluf grabs the hysterical woman by the arm and throws her toward the men. The younger of the men catches her, and she collapses in grief into his arms. The other captives stare in horror and shock, too afraid to move. _

_Braluf motions for his guards to start herding the chosen ones away. "Take that…" He nods down at the child's body, "To His Majesty. My compliments."_

"Stephen! Stephen, wake up!"

Stephen bolts upright in the wagon, gasping for breath. "Wha…"

Erik is hunkered next to him. "You were having a nightmare. " He reaches out carefully, unsure how Stephen will react since they are not alone, and pushes a hunk of blond hair out of his eyes. "Was it about Blue? You were yelling 'Please don't hurt him'."

"No…" Stephen tries to shake off the dream. "Not about Blue. It's…I don't want to talk about it right now. Later…I'll tell you later."

"Alright. We're almost in Morthal." Erik moves back to the bench.

"And yet he wonders why I'd have bad dreams…" Stephen directs the question toward Meeko, who cocks his head, and then barks once.

"Erik?" Stephen suddenly remembers something. He feels silly, but he has to ask. "Is there…a Nord lullaby about a lamb looking for his mother because they're shearing her?"

"Little Lamb? My father used to sing that to me all the time, only he changed the lyrics a bit and made the lamb go looking for his Da. Made more sense for a lad with no mother. Why do you ask?"

Stephen tries to tell himself that the chill going down his spine has to do with the sight of Morthal looming in the distance like a fat spider.

"No reason."

.


	4. Normal

Disclaimer: yeah, they still aren't mine. Blah. Thanks again to Amazingsoulweasel for reading! You're the best! Sorry for the delay: real life has been rather snotty to me lately. *smacks real life* I've read through this multiple times and tried to correct any typos so I apologize if I missed any. I'm doing that a lot lately due to lack of sleep: at work the other day I tried to report that one of our employees was very helpful in assisting a customer who had no heat, but instead the report praised her for her efforts involving a customer who had no head…

**Normal**

Sometimes Stephen thinks that out of all of Erik's good qualities, the fact that he is so honestly and wonderfully_ normal_ is the best.

The Nord snores loudly. In the morning his breath reeks and at night when he pulls off his boots his feet are worse. He snorts when he laughs and sometimes drools in his sleep, and he insists on taking the long way down off a hill when a simple jump would get him there in a fraction of the time. (He also insists on following Stephen's jumps with shouts of "Are you insane?" and "You'll break your neck, you idiot!") He's sometimes obnoxious and overbearing, and often has no understanding that private things should be kept private. For all his grumbling, Stephen would have him no other way. Erik's unabashed humanity keeps Stephen grounded and sane, especially during the dark times when he begins to doubt his own.

The fact that elven blood flows in his veins has already been a bitter enough tonic for Stephen to swallow. He can't change it so he's grudgingly learned to accept it. (If Blue ever suspected the reason for Stephen's antipathy toward magic, he was kind enough never to drag it out into the light, and Stephen would have rather died than taken a chance on hurting the Dunmer by explaining.) Discovering on top of it that he allegedly has a dragon's soul would be enough to drive him mad if he let it. He chooses not to believe that rubbish, thank you very much. It makes for a pretty story, he supposes, but in over 20 years of life he has never once had the desire to burn a village to the ground or eat anyone.

However, he cannot deny that he isn't as…as human…as he once was. Or thought he was. Skyrim is changing him, reshaping him into something unique, something he isn't sure has a name outside of "Dovahkiin". Besides being able to absorb the dragon souls (something he still doesn't quite understand despite the patient explaining by the Greybeards) he is more aware of the world around him, as if he suddenly has another sense that others lack.

He and Erik would be in the tunnels, deep in the bowels of the world, surrounded by traps and draugr and reminders of a brutal and ruthless era, and he would hear them, the voices calling out for him. The next thing he knows he's running, impatiently gutting anything stupid enough to get in his way, because there is no option of not answering that call. He runs seemingly blindly through the twists and tunnels and warrens, dimly aware that Erik is gamely trying to keep up with him, but nothing matters except reach the source of the voice. He runs until he reaches the wall he knows he will find, and stands there gasping for breath as the Word washes over him, and as his blood cools he feels both the surge of his new power and a kind of desperation that a little more of his 'normal' has been leeched away.

Erik does not hear the Words. He was not able to see or hear Helgi although she stood only a few feet away from him. (Although he has seen other spirits, more aggressive ones.) The Nord once found himself running down a dirt road in the middle of the night, chasing after a stray dog only on the assurance from Stephen that the animal could talk and wanted them to follow. He does not hear Alduin's terrible voice on the few occasions the monster has decided to converse with Stephen (and Stephen is glad of this. Alduin's words drip with malice and blood-lust: it's impossible to hear him and not feel yourself being crushed between those wicked fangs.)

He also knows that there's something…off…about Morthal. Something Stephen can't quite put his finger on, but it makes him think of wild animals locked in flimsy wooden structures. It's safe, for now, but at any moment those barriers could break down releasing the monsters contained on the unsuspecting villagers. He can't see the monsters but he feels them, feels their hunger, and he is glad that this too is beyond Erik's abilities to sense.

The beds in the Moorside Inn aren't anything fancy: clean furs over fresh straw, but they are comfortable enough and nicer than a lot of places they've slept. There in the dark, Stephen tells Erik about the horrifying dream, and Erik mutters appropriate shock and sympathy, although he doesn't quite understand it either. They fall asleep there in the tiny room, and for Stephen it is peaceful and free of nightmares. It is not, however, destined to last.

Stephen awakes to a light touch on his arm, someone shaking him back to reality, and it takes his sleep-fogged mind a moment to register a small face in the shadows, pale and desperate.

"Joric?" Stephen whispers, recognizing the boy. "What's wrong?"

The child licks his lips and doesn't reply at first, but he's obviously frightened about something. It's a look Stephen has seen countless times on faces throughout Skyrim, right before he finds himself up to his elbows in dead bandits or trolls. Stephen nods once and slides out of bed, stepping into his boots and remembering to grab a spare fur off the nearby chair to throw around his shoulders. He then follows Joric out of the inn and into the stillness of the Morthal night.

Once outside, Joric speaks in a whisper. "He won't leave me alone! I keep telling him to go away, but he won't do it! He said he won't go away until I bring you to him. Please just make him leave me be."

"Who? Joric, is someone hurting you? Have you told your mother?" Stephen suddenly realizes he's left his beloved daggers behind in the inn, and wonders if he should circle back for them.

"No…you'll see. At least, I hope you'll see." Joric sounds more angry now than afraid, and he looks tiny under his own fur wrap. "I don't want to be his friend! I don't want to be able to see him! I just want to be normal!"

The words resonate sharply in Stephen and he puts a hand on Joric's shoulder. "My brother used to tell me that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I always thought that was a bit silly: horses are expensive to keep. The beggar would probably eat it before he rode it."

Joric giggles in spite of himself and leads Stephen around the corner of a building, and down a small flight of steps to the spongy ground beyond. In the moonlight, he looks more than a bit like his mother, and Stephen wonders if he'll have her courage when he grows up, the conviction to live as he is with no apologies or explanations. Stephen has come to deeply respect the old woman, but he also thinks he's lucky to have her as a friend and not as a mother.

"I brought him." Joric suddenly calls out softly. "Just like you wanted."

Stephen scans the distant trees but sees nothing. The wind picks up a bit and tugs at his wrap, and he suddenly wishes again for his daggers. Not because he thinks he'll need them, but because he feels naked and exposed without them. Helpless…

Not so helpless, a voice in his head chides. You have your magic, even if you don't like it. Enough to protect yourself if you needed to. Enough to protect the boy…

"Come on." Joric is whining now. "I brought Stephen. I'm cold and tired and I want to go back to bed. "

There is a white patch now near the closet tree, and Stephen at first thinks it's a reflection of moonlight on ice until it starts to grow larger and take shape, and suddenly…he knows. He knows what it is and who it is that coerced Joric to drag him out of his warm bed. It's the only thing that makes sense, and he is not surprised in the least as he goes forward to see that the vapors have converged to form a little boy, younger than Joric, and as ethereal as Helgi had been all those months ago.

Stephen feels no fear as he kneels in front of the child, who stares back solemnly at him. "Hey there, little lamb. I dreamed about you. What's your name?"

"Tjorn." His voice is soft and seems to echo, just as Helgi's had.

"Tjorn, I'm Stephen. But I guess you knew that. You told Joric to come get me because you knew I could see you. Is that right?"

Tjorn nods once. "I had a friend. Her name was Helgi but she went away. You saw her."

"That's right. I did. Helgi was my friend too." Stephen knows in the back of his mind what a weird conversation this is but brushes it aside. "Can we let Joric go back to bed now?"

Tjorn gives Joric a sad look, and Stephen sees that he desperately wishes the older boy, who can perform the miracle of actually seeing him, would be his playmate. He wonders exactly how long Joric has seen the ghost, and wonders if it would be possible to make Tjorn understand that it isn't him the mortal boy is rejecting, but in a sense part of himself.

Joric looks guilty now and toes the ground. "I'm…going to go home now. Bye Tjorn." He makes himself wave and the ghost lifts a hand in reply.

"I bet you've been lonely a long time." Stephen addresses the spirit again, working on sheer intuition here. "How did you get here?"

Tjorn extends his hand, and Stephen touches it, and the world seems to shimmer. He sees the wretched camp with Tjorn and his mother, and he sees Morthal, and the two seem to overlay for a moment. When it clears, he understands.

"It was here, wasn't it? This is where you died. They built the village where the Dragon Priests had their camp, only they couldn't have known that. You've been here alone ever since, haven't you? But…" Stephen is confused. "They killed a lot of people here, Tjorn. That's why this place always feels so sad. Did everyone else leave you? The other ghosts?"

The boy shrugs and Stephen lets out a sigh, seeing it freeze in the air between them. "Why did you stay?"

"I can't find Mama. They took her to shear but they didn't bring her back. I told her if I ever got lost, I'd stay right where I was until she found me."

_A snip of a memory. Being in a market place, tugged along by the hand, and suddenly being eye to eye with his own mother. "If you get lost, Stephen, don't wander around like a ninny. You stay right where you are, and I'll find you. "_

"I think all mothers say that." Stephen whispers, almost to himself. "Tjorn, your mother loved you very much. She wouldn't want you here all alone. She'd want you to go where she is. She's probably waiting for you in Sovngarde."

Tjorn shakes his head. "She's not there. Helgi came back and told me and tried to make me go with her but I said no. The bad people took Mama up there." He points upward, and Stephen can make out a ridge of a cliff high on a mountain. It looks familiar to him, and he supposes it should: he's examined it often enough on Walks-The-World's map. This is all getting to be too much of a coincidence…

"Tjorn, it so happens I'm headed to that very place." Thanks to some twisted Gods who set all this up, no doubt. "I think if your Mama could have come to find you, she would have. Do you want to come with me to help me look for her?"

The child hesitates a moment, and then "Okay. But if she gets mad, she has to yell at you and not me."

"Deal. We're leaving in the morning, my friends and I. I can't promise you that I'll be able to find out what happened to your Mama: it was a very long time ago. I can promise you though that I'll look."

The ghost-boy lowers his voice. "It's a scary place. I went there once to look for her by myself, but I ran." He looks ashamed that he broke his promise.

"Well, don't you worry. You, my friend, are going to be in the company of some very tough guys, and we don't run away from anything. "

Yet.

/

Stephen's mind is whirling as he makes his way back to the Moorside Inn. How has his life become so bizarre that allowing the ghost of a murdered child to accompany him on a treasure hunt seems almost mundane? To what purpose? It's not as if they're going to find any trace of the boy's mother a thousand years later. All he can do is hope that whatever they do convinces the child to move on to Sovngarde, where he belongs. Stephen shivers in the cold and thinks longingly of summers spent in the village watering hole back in High Rock, when dragons were fairytales and ghosts stayed invisible where they belonged.

Back inside his room at the inn, he wearily peels off his fur wrap and damp boots, and slides back under the covers with a sigh.

"Stephen?" Erik mutters. "Where have you been? You're freezing!" He piles extra fur around the Breton and pulls him close to warm him.

"That's normal, right?" Stephen whispers. "Being cold? Normal people get cold, don't they? I'm still human, aren't I?"

"What are you talking about? Of course you're human!" Erik nuzzles him. "What else would you be?"

"Something else. Something different. Something that doesn't have a name. "

"Alright then, you're an abomination. A horrible, twisted freak of nature that can't be discussed in polite company. One that really needs to cut his toenails more often because you keep clawing up my legs during the night. It's like sleeping next to a Khajiit."

"I'm being serious!" Stephen starts laughing in spite of himself and smacks Erik. "How do you always do that?"

Erik shrugs, grinning in the dark. "Do what?"

"Make me forget about why I'm in a bad mood."

"I'm a man of many talents, most of which you seem to appreciate." Erik pulls him even closer.

"You really think I'm still human?"

"I hope so. My father's alright with you being a man, but he'd draw the line at me being in love with a dragon. I don't think he'd disown me: I am his only son. He'd frown very disapprovingly, though."

"Remind me, then." Stephen mutters against Erik's chest, laughing again. "Make me feel human."

"My pleasure."


End file.
